Elvin Friend
by Nebride
Summary: Gimli reflects on his friendship with Legolas. Short and sweet.


ELVIN FRIEND  
  
A/N: I wrote this ages ago as a companion piece to "The Caverns of Mirkwood". It refers to an event that Legolas mentions in chapter 15. The problem with this little fic, is that it is written in first person from Gimli's POV. Both Thecla and my hubby felt that the POV made it a bit lacking in detail and depth.  
  
Now, normally I heed their advice religiously. They are people who I have the greatest respect for their opinions, judgment and good sense. So, over the past several months I've tried to change this to a third person POV, without success. The problem is that I *adore* first person stories. If you've read my "Mulder Monday" story, you'll see what I mean.  
  
Maybe someday I'll be able to fix it up to appeal to a wider audience, but for now it is just Gimli's reflections on his friendship with Legolas. I hope you enjoy it. :D ~Nebride  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
"An axe seems an ungainly weapon."  
  
He says that while standing knee deep in a clear stream and gives me that focused stare that I've become so accustomed to.  
  
It used to unnerve me, that "look". I hated him at first for it. That fathom deep, soul-searching gaze that seems to pierce one to the bone. I hated him, because those eyes cut through the caverns of my mind and peered with typical Elvin curiosity into all the corners, leaving only starlight behind. How dare he?  
  
But that was when I first knew him. I later came to trust that twilight gaze. To know that though it was intense, it was not malicious. He is far more open-minded than most of his kind. And I suppose if I had lived almost three thousand years, I'd be focused and intense as well.  
  
But though I have not lived so long, I am still his elder. Relatively speaking, he is young, though he hates for anyone to think that, let alone me. There are times when I can only shake my head at his antics.  
  
Like now.  
  
We have been riding on that beast of his for days and he is not the least bit tired. The only discomfort he seems to feel is the desire to cool his feet in a stream.  
  
A little hunting trip he says.  
  
Ha!  
  
We are so far from our respective homes that we could never hope to get any meat back before it spoiled. He does not care though. He is out here in the middle of the wilds just for the fun of it. Why he had to drag me out here with him, I don't know.  
  
Or maybe I do.  
  
He stands there still, in the stream, with one eyebrow cocked, waiting for me to answer. He cares not that the water is so cold it would turn most people blue. His boots lay discarded on the bank. He shifts slightly, putting most of his weight on one leg, so that his body is slightly out of alignment.  
  
I wonder if he realizes how beautiful he is, how perfect? I cannot help but admire him.  
  
Not that I think of him in *that* way. My people do not take lovers of the same gender. It is as foreign to us as meat is to a horse. But I can still recognize what a work of art he is. How fairly he is sculpted.  
  
He is lean in the way of all Elves and willowy tall. But I have seen him naked and his muscles rival that of the brawniest man though they are streamlined and lithely built. His shoulders are wide from pulling the bow and they taper down to an almost nonexistent waist. His legs, like that beast he rides, are made for running and just as well shaped.  
  
And his face . . . by Aulë! How the maidens must burn for him! But he seems rather uninterested in the she-Elves. I think he is still too young to have more than a passing interest in them. There are more fascinating pursuits for an Elvin warrior . . . such as my axe.  
  
"It is not ungainly Legolas, if one knows how to move with it," I finally tell him.  
  
"Then it is like a sword," he decides. "You must learn to follow its movements as much as direct them."  
  
"Yes, only more so. For an axe is far heavier and has greater momentum. It can pull the unwary off balance."  
  
"Hmm." He wades to the bank and sits down; rubbing his bare feet dry in the grass before pulling on his boots.  
  
"Will you teach me?"  
  
I try not to show my surprise. In fact, I know not why I should be surprised. He loves all weapons. He once jokingly told me that if he could not ride it, kill it, climb it, or fight it, it did not interest him. *  
  
I hand him my other axe and he hefts it experimentally.  
  
"Nay, place your hands further apart. It will give you better balance." I demonstrate for him and he flawlessly copies me. We try a few experimental swings and I realize that he is going to learn very quickly. Again, I should not be surprised.  
  
I show him the basics and soon he is experimenting on his own. We spare, slowly at first but Elvin confidence soon quickens the pace. I warn him to be cautious, but he ignores me. We dance over rough terrain. Or at least he does. I stumble and stomp and grunt when my foot comes down in a hole. I must move quickly or he'll catch me with the head of the axe.  
  
But his overconfidence is his undoing, at least with this weapon. Some of his swings go wild and carry him too far. I am about to comment on this when one of those wild swings glances off of my helm. I see stars for a moment and then I see nothing at all.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
A face is bending close to mine. It is a beautiful face and for some reason seems vaguely familiar to me. But I can place no name to it.  
  
Strange. I can place no name to myself either or anything else around me. I know that I should be able too. But my mind is a blank and oddly enough I know that this is not the normal state of affairs. And there is a pounding inside my skull unlike anything I have ever known before. At least, I don't think I have ever known it before. By Aulë, my head hurts! I begin to feel rather frightened.  
  
"Gimli! Gimli, speak to me!" the tall pale stranger says urgently. I'm not certain what a 'gimli' is, but the stranger is very agitated. Obviously he is frightened too. I wonder if we are in danger.  
  
I try to ask him what has happened, but my words come out in an unintelligible garble. I try again, very slowly this time.  
  
I sound exactly like a sow nursing its piglets.  
  
Now there is a comparison I do not relish!  
  
But at least I know what a sow is. Perhaps that is an accomplishment of some sorts.  
  
The stranger has now released me and I struggle to sit up. The world spins around me and once it calms down, I find that the stranger is back, supporting my shoulders.  
  
"Stay still," he admonishes while putting a wet cloth to my head. The cloth releases the pounding sensation to new exuberance. I'm quite certain that there are tiny little dwarves gleefully hammering away inside my scull, trying to pound my brain to mush.  
  
Dwarves.  
  
Hmm, it seems that I know that name at least, and it gives me comfort. I try to remove the wet cloth.  
  
The stranger halts my hand. I am surprised by the strength in the hand that restrains me for he is a scrawny looking thing.  
  
Since I seem stuck with the cloth and the pounding inside my skull for the moment, I look at the stranger to occupy what's left of my aching brain.  
  
He is very odd looking. I seem to think that he aught to have hair on his face, but there is none. Perhaps he is only a boy, I decide. He does look terribly young.  
  
My gaze wanders up from his face to the strange ears peeking out from behind elaborate braids. They are pointed! Very odd. Reaching up, I give one of them a sharp tug to make sure it is real.  
  
"AI!"  
  
The cloth suddenly slides down over my eyes and the arm supporting me flinches and I am dropped to the ground.  
  
Clumsy oaf.  
  
By the time the cloth has been sorted out and I am supported again, the stranger is looking down at me with irritation.  
  
"Elvin ears are very sensitive, my friend!"  
  
Elvin? What is an 'elvin', I wonder. What ever it is, he seems rather put out about it.  
  
Touchy, as well as clumsy, apparently. What strange company I am keeping.  
  
My mind drifts as the pounding intensifies and my eyes close. I am shaken awake by the agitated stranger.  
  
Pesky fellow.  
  
"Gimli! Speak to me! Gimli, do you even know where you are?"  
  
How in the name of Mordor should I know where I am, I wonder? Strange questions this stranger keeps asking me. He has obviously been awake longer than I have, so he ought to know where we are. I have no idea why he's asking me.  
  
Ignoring the bothersome boy, I close my eyes again and succeed in drifting off into a comforting . . . dark . . . sleep.  
  
Unfortunately, even here the pest will not leave me alone. I've just gotten cozy inside my skull and all of a sudden "he" comes barging in. I can hear him poking around inside my brain.  
  
There are no words, only a flowing stream of emotions. They almost seem to form notes, as if in a song. I wish he would shut up. My head hurts and the last thing I need is someone singing to me . . .  
  
The notes change and he latches onto me like a dog with a bone. I feel him dragging me back to consciousness. I really don't want to go. I'm very comfortable, but this Elf is such a pest.  
  
Of course, all Elves are that way. They can't leave well enough alone.  
  
He seems to be filling my head with memories or something. I can almost see flashes of something . . . images maybe. They are much too bright for my pounding brain.  
  
Curse you, Legolas! Leave off! This is your fault anyway!  
  
I open my eyes rather abruptly as memory floods back into my consciousness.  
  
Legolas is cradling me in his arms as if I were a child. His eyes are closed and his forehead is so close to mine we almost touch. There are tiny drops of perspiration on his upper lip.  
  
Odd.  
  
I have never seen him sweat before.  
  
What is even odder is that I am certain it was late afternoon when we began our ill-fated sparing match and now it seems to be morning.  
  
Have I been unconscious that long?  
  
Legolas' eyes flutter open and the song that has been nagging me for the past several hours finally leaves.  
  
I realize that he has somehow used his Elvin abilities to heal me, or at least to bring back my memory. My head is still pounding, but everything inside of it seems to be in working order.  
  
And while I appreciate his effort to heal me, I have not forgotten that it was Elvin arrogance that landed that blow upon my head.  
  
Curse him! I will make him pay for his flamboyance!  
  
"NO THANK YOU!" I shout, causing him to jump in a very satisfactory way.  
  
I shove him away and grope around on the ground. My hand finds the comforting shaft of my axe. "You are very pretty but you will never compare to Galadriel in my eyes!"  
  
Legolas sits back, gaping at me. He would look like a goldfish if he were not such a handsome fellow.  
  
"Stupid tree squirrel," I mutter as I fumble to a sitting position. "Just stay away from me. I know of you Elves and your strange ways!"  
  
"Strange ways? Gimli, I was trying to heal you!"  
  
"Ha! Sneaking up on me, that's what you were doing. They say that an Elf would just as soon tumble someone as look at them."  
  
He is really gaping at me now. I have to sink my teeth in to my lower lip to keep from laughing.  
  
"Gimli . . . I have never . . . I did not mean . . ."  
  
Laughter bursts from me, but I hastily turn it into a coughing fit and rise unsteadily to my feet. Legolas immediately grabs my arm to help me.  
  
"Leave off!" I shout and shove his hand away.  
  
He looks hurt now and I almost relent, but I am determined to teach him a lesson.  
  
He stands dejectedly a few paces away from me, looking at me with those soulful eyes.  
  
"I am sorry, my friend," he says slowly. "I am sorry for your injury . . ."  
  
"Ah, and just how did this injury occur?" I ask him. "Refresh my memory."  
  
He looks decidedly uncomfortable now and shifts from one foot to the other.  
  
"I . . . was . . . that is, I misjudged the weight of the axe and the momentum it carried . . ."  
  
"In short," I interrupt, "you made a mistake. Convinced of your own Elvin superiority, you were overconfident, you thought you could just pick up my weapon and instantly understand it. So without even paying attention to my instructions . . ."  
  
"It seems that your memory is quite refreshed," his says and the uncertain tone in his voice is gone. As I look up into his fair face I can see Thranduil's temper beginning to surface in his blood. "Your memory is faulty though. I did listen to your instructions. However, I am accustomed to weapons that are made with precision. Any Elvin child could pick up one of our weapons and understand it . . ."  
  
"An Elvin child would be knocked down by the mere weight of an axe such as these!" I counter.  
  
"I think not. Elves are strong from their infancy."  
  
The argument continues for several more moments. Legolas makes a few more uncomplimentary remarks about our weapon making abilities and I say a few things about Elves and their . . .  
  
Well . . . its really not that important what I said.  
  
The argument ends when he stomps off to go tend to his beast.  
  
Or at least stomps as much as an elf is capable of stomping, which means that he is virtually silent.  
  
I am now nagged by a pounding headache and the sting of guilt. He did apologize after all . . .  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
We mount up after a long boring day and a restless night. Restless at least for me. My headache and the guilt seem to have made an agreement to bash my brain to mush. I am not sure which is more painful. The pain in my skull or the look of hurt on Legolas' face.  
  
Without even discussing it, I see that we are headed home. Legolas has said no word since our argument. He curled up in his bedroll last night and appeared to sleep the whole night. It is difficult to tell though with Elves and their open eyes. Strange creatures.  
  
As I ride behind him now, I am aware of the rigidity of his posture. Normally he moves with fluid grace with the beast, but his spine is ramrod straight now. I try not to touch him, but I must hang on somehow. Every step the beast takes is torment to me.  
  
We stop at midday and he unpacks the beast.  
  
"We will stop here for the night," he says quietly, putting my bedroll on a thick mound of grass beneath a tree. Normally we do not stop before nightfall, but I am not going to argue the matter today. Throwing myself down on the blanket with a groan, I close my eyes for a moment and drift off to sleep.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
When I wake, the sun has shifted and I realize I have slept several hours. Legolas is bending over me again, supporting my shoulders and pressing a small cup to my lips. The liquid is hot and I detect the acidic taste of willow bark. As he lowers me to the blanket again, I realize that my head is not pounding nearly as much. The rest and the thick shade of the tree overhead have helped me.  
  
Legolas stands up. He is still not looking at me.  
  
"I will be back momentarily. There is a warren of rabbits nearby. I will get one or two for our dinner." I do not ask him how he knows that there are rabbits nearby. I gave up a long time ago wondering how he knows these things.  
  
He slings his bow over his shoulder and starts to leave.  
  
I struggle to sit up and a cold cloth drifts down over my face. Sputtering, I push it aside and force myself to speak.  
  
"A bow seems an ungainly weapon," I venture.  
  
He stops in mid stride and turns to me slowly. Those bright Elvin eyes are peering at me with an intensity that nearly makes me break out in a sweat.  
  
"It is not ungainly, Gimli," he says slowly, "if one knows how to direct it."  
  
"Then it must be controlled?" I ask hesitantly.  
  
"Yes." He shifts his weight, still watching me with that centuries old gaze.  
  
I clear my throat. "Will you teach me?"  
  
He stands so still that he could be mistaken for a statue, but at my awkward question, the muscles around his mouth relax and a smile comes over his face as slowly and as softly as a sunrise.  
  
"Yes, I will teach you," he says. "But not until we return to Helm's Deep for your injury needs time to heal and I do not believe that my weapon is appropriate for your stature."  
  
I start to sputter a protest, but he holds up one of those long fingered hands and stops me.  
  
"I believe that some of your craftsmen are skilled at making crossbows, are they not?"  
  
I nod, a mistake as the little hammers start pounding in my skull again.  
  
"Then we will have them make a crossbow for you and we will learn the use of it together, for I am unskilled in it as well."  
  
The tension has left his body now and the light returned to his eyes. "I will fetch us some dinner, my friend," he says. "And then I will make you some more willow bark tea to ease the injury which I caused."  
  
I wave a hand at him as I lay back down. "Nay, it is I who is at fault. I am familiar with the axe and should have known to get out of the way."  
  
My words meet only silence, but it matters not. The misunderstanding is over now. Legolas is my friend, my brother; I need not fear that this argument will affect our relationship.  
  
Nevertheless, as I lay back carefully, I hear his voice echoing out of the forest.  
  
"Beware though, Master Dwarf, if I am struck unconscious anytime in the near future, you had best take care your beard. I promise I will give it as hard a tug as you gave my ear."  
  
My eyes pop open and I sit up quickly, groaning with pain as I do so. The dratted Elf is nowhere in sight. With a 'humph' of irritation, I lay back down but not before I hear the echo of Elvish laughter amidst the trees. Closing my eyes again, I try to hide the grin that steals over my face.  
  
Blasted Elves!  
  
The End.  
  
~ ~ ~  
  
A/N: Just a little event referred to in chapter 15 "The Caverns of Mirkwood". Gimli is my second favorite character right up there with Thranduil. I've always felt that there are not nearly enough Gimli fics.  
  
I would like to apologize to Thundera Tiger. This fic bears some resemblance to her astonishingly touching fic "Reflections in the Dark". The similarity is totally coincidental. I began writing this about six months before she posted her story, though I left it unfinished for a long time.  
  
If you'd like to read a far better Gimli POV, then I highly recommend Thundera Tiger's "Reflections in the Dark" and its companion piece "Musings by Torchlight". She's a much superior writer than I am and all her words are like precious gems. She writes the Legolas/Gimli friendship incredibly well. Far better than I could ever hope to do.  
  
* And speaking of brilliant writers . . . special thanks to Irena for allowing me to borrow that line from her brilliant fic "For the Good of Gondor". It was just too good for me to pass up, just like her story which I highly recommend, though I always need to take deep breaths after each of her chapters. You think my cliff hangers are bad??!! While you're at it, read Irena's "Perfection" as well. An exquisitely written fic that is as addictive as it is dark.  
  
Thanks for reading. :D  
  
~Nebride 


End file.
